


Seeking Skin

by ac1d6urn (Acid), Sinick



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, PTSD, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acid/pseuds/ac1d6urn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinick/pseuds/Sinick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus learns to live with his tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the the Severus Big Bang Birthday Bash. Thank you to Naatz for beta reading.

  
  
  
  
  
  
_"Tattooed men who are not behind bars are either latent criminals or degenerate aristocrats. If someone who is tattooed dies in freedom, then he does so a few years before he would have committed murder."_

Adolf Loos, 1962. Ornament und Verbrechen. Samtliche Schriften,  
Edited by F. Gluck. Vienna: Herold.

| 

_"Any tattoo can be viewed as a warning sign that should alert the practicing physician to look for underlying psychiatric conditions."_   


Robert F. Raspa and John Cusack, 1990. Psychiatric Implications of Tattoos,  
American Family Physician, 41, 1483.  
  
---|---  
  
*

  
Mum went white to the lips as she stared at the edge of the Mark, visible where Severus' sleeve had ridden up. If it'd been anything else, she would've yanked his sleeve up to see more of it, and given him a clip in the ear to boot. But Mum backed away, like he was a stranger with a raised wand. Like he was Da, with a raised fist and a skinful of booze and bitterness. "You bloody fool, you've signed your death warrant wi' that thing!" she cried hotly. "As if you've not had enough to put up with all these years, wi' folk bullyin' you! Now you've given 'em all a reason to judge you! Aye, and convict you besides! They'll dump you in Azkaban or in a ditch before they're done with you, and none of your posh new 'mates' will lift a finger to 'elp you!"

_That's all **she** knows!_ "Malfoy swore-"

"Oh, don't you 'Malfoy' me! He's all mouth and trousers, that one. He'll see you fed to th' dementors before he dirties his lily-white hands wi' th' likes of you-"

_I've had a gutful of her whinging. Sod this, I'm off!_ The bang of displaced air when he Disapparated and cut her off mid-rant was the most satisfying thing he'd heard all day. He was still seething as he landed at the gates of Malfoy Manor. _What the hell else could I have expected from the stupid old cow? Probably thinks the Dark Mark's like the tat on Da's shoulder. A heart with 'Eileen' in it. How bloody useless was that?_

*

  
"Death Eaters," he learned to say with proper awe, enough to display how proud he was to be allowed to be part of them. Enough to be safe among them. But he still heard the sneering whispers from behind their masks, "Half-blood. Dirt-poor. Bastard. Tyke."

Months passed before he admitted the terrible truth: the Mark on his arm hadn't let him win friends or influence people, any more than Da's old tat had let him keep Mum's heart.

*

  
"Well?" Lily grabbed the chains of the playground swing he was sitting in and brought it to a twisting, circling halt. She stood over him, legs spread and braced against his weight, both hands still gripping the rusty links. Staring down at him.

Severus lowered his head, taking refuge in the hair that trailed into his face, and stared at nothing.

"Are you going to say something?" Lily's words prodded him, sharp with irritation.

"Will it matter if I do?" he muttered miserably.

"Depends. Is there an 'I'm sorry' in it?"

"There were lots of those the last time we talked. They didn't stop you from leaving me outside the Gryffindor common room."

"I left 'cause I was mad at you! For good reason! You know what you did."

His throat closed. _How can I ever apologise for that? I've tried! Apologies are just as bloody useless as tats._ Severus gripped his left forearm in a gesture that was already a habit. He couldn't think of a single damn thing to say that would matter; he couldn't even look up.

"Fine," she said at last, her voice hardened. With a scuff of sandals in the dirt of the playground, she spun on her heel, started to walk away. Again.

"Wait! I'm so sorry."

She couldn't've heard - he'd barely heard himself breathe it - but she stopped. Her back stiffened.

_If I could choose again, I'd choose her over the Mark in a heartbeat. Hell, I'd even get her name tattooed in a stupid heart, if that could fix it all. But nothing can fix it. I can't even let her go._

His voice had deserted him, but his body did not, so he reached out, seeking something, anything. _So desperate. I always am around her. I always was._

Lily searched his face. If she was looking for regret, surely she'd see plenty, and more. But her gaze fell away, slipped down toward his hand. "What's that?"

He glanced down and his heart seized. _The Mark!_

He should have moved, said anything, done anything to distract her. But, touch-starved, he froze just for a moment; and then it was too late.

Lily's face went ghostly-white. She dropped his hand and pulled back from him, as if the curse-burnt Mark on his forearm had burnt her as well.

_I've lost her._

He wanted to scream or sob but he had no time to waste on himself. "He's getting stronger every day," he gasped the words out, breathless with haste and the need to be heard. "Lily, wait! Listen to me! You need to go into hiding! Fidelius. Or overseas. I'll brew the anti-tracking...."

"What I 'need' is for you to stay the hell away from me! Death Eater!"

*

  
"Now you've given 'em all a reason to judge you," Mum had said.

She was right.

That hard truth didn't get any easier to live with as time passed.

Even Lily's son had judged him at his very first glance. Severus tried not to care, but he couldn't forget how Harry Potter had turned away with a wince, as if the mere sight of him was physically painful. Lesson after lesson, he met Lily's eyes behind the ridiculous specs, and all he saw was disgust. _'Stay the hell away from me!'_ he heard all over again. _'Death Eater!_'

He'd learned his lesson from Lily. He knew better than to reach out, to attempt to bridge the gulf of that disgust. Seeking anything, even forgiveness, was a waste of time. He didn't deserve forgiveness.

Yet, seven hard years later, as his life was ending, Harry had finally looked at him, had _seen him, _with a green and grieving gaze. Once. Just like Severus had always wished Lily would.

_It's over... I'm free..._ Severus had time to think as Harry's worried gaze faded from his vision._ I hope that whatever's next won't involve a Judgement. I've been judged enough already._

*

  
He woke, utterly astonished to be alive. He opened bleary eyes, and was even more surprised to see a room at St. Mungo's instead of an Azkaban cell, Healers instead of dementors. _Surely, anyone with a single functioning eyeball and braincell would have noticed my Mark. How could they not, when it's practically bared to all and sundry. Bloody hospital gowns!_

He was in for more surprises when the Healers told him what had happened. Voldemort (he could think, even say the name now) was finally, fully dead; and Harry was not. Or 'not dead _anymore_', according to the rumours, which were even wilder than the usual post-war celebratory chaos. Severus hardly knew what to think about any of it, or even which bits were true. And with his throat in the shape it was in, he certainly wasn't up to questioning anyone.

The instant the Visiting Hour bell rang, the ward door swung open, and an impatient hand parted the curtains around his bed. The tousled dark head was instantly identifiable. As Severus met that worried green gaze, his annoyance at the intrusion melted away. A tingle of deja vu traced Severus' spine. _Look at me._

Harry. Pale and ill-slept, but a hell of a long way from dead. Severus drew breath to say something - he had no idea what - but Harry came to rescue by holding up his hands and patting the air in a pleading, placating gesture. "Don't talk. Not if you don't absolutely have to. Your throat needs to heal."

_Not saying a word._ Severus pressed his lips together in a thin line, and sighed pointedly through his nose.

Harry smiled and pulled up a chair. "I'm, um. I'm really glad you're alive." He swallowed, and the next words left him in a rush. "Er, I... I brought you some books. Dunno if they're what you'd want to read, but if they're not, just say so. Er. Nod so. Or something." As the spate of words ran dry, he unshrunk a sizeable stack of volumes and set them down on the bedside table.

Severus didn't pick any up, even though reading would've been a good way to shut the interloper out. At least books were a more thoughtful thing to bring than the traditional rubbish like flowers or grapes. He gave a slight nod of thanks, and instantly regretted it when his mangled throat throbbed dully over the numbness of healing salve.

_It hurts,_ Severus thought with a mental shrug,_ but at least the pain is in new places. Come to think of it, my Mark isn't hurting at all. I can't even remember the last time it didn't hurt!_

The surprise must've shown on his face. "What is it?" Harry asked. "D'you want me to get a Healer?"

Severus reached to stop him, before the impulsive brat could spring out of his chair. His hand closed on Harry's sleeve and he tugged, insistently, until...

"Uh, as long as you're sure..."

A 'stay!' glare got the point across; Harry resumed his seat. _Just as well. I'd hate to try and use Legilimency to get it through his thick skull._ Severus sighed and settled back into the pillow. _I'm rattled enough right now to slip up and spill the guiltiest secrets of my life to him. Again! At least last time they were handed to him all bottled up. I wonder if he's seen them yet?_ Severus searched Harry's face for clues, but those normally-expressive features were blank.

Harry didn't meet his gaze; his head was lowered as if he was looking at Severus' hand, still on his sleeve. Or at his arm, and the Mark that leered up from his bared skin. Harry's posture was suddenly, eerily similar to Lily's, in that endless moment before everything that might have been between them went irrevocably to hell.

_Even now I can't escape it!_ Severus yanked his arm back under the covers; the sudden movement made Harry jump.

"It's OK," Harry said, and there was something terribly odd in his tone, something soft and kind. No one had ever spoken so gently to Severus before. "I know. You were _so_ sorry, and you did everything you could. You saved my life... I don't know how many times. You taught me how to beat him." This time, Harry was the one who reached out, folding back the covers. He cradled Severus' left hand between both of his, as though it was precious. As though the Mark on Severus' arm was just another battle scar. Perhaps... now it was. "I _know_, and I'll make everyone else understand. I've told everyone: what you did, and why, and how we couldn't have won without you. They'll look after you. You'll get better," Harry assured him, with that same soft tone. It tightened Severus' throat with a pang entirely unlike his healing wounds. "You have to get better. You'll be fine! Just fine."

*

  
As it turned out, the standard of care Severus was given at St. Mungo's was better than he'd ever had in his life. Of course it was all because of the way The Boy Who Lived (To Expelliarmus Voldemort Into The History Books) spent the following weeks hovering around Severus' bed like a speccy, scruffy ministering angel. Not that Severus was about to complain: with every visit Harry brought new books and journals and newspapers and letters.

The Howlers Severus had expected were never among them. He didn't ask why, putting it off as yet another thing to do with his voice after it returned. Then, little by little, it started to return at last.

*

  
"Rehabilitative _therapy_?" Severus gave a full-body shudder of disgust, and pointedly cleared his still-scratchy throat.

Healer Pompously Incompetent, who'd just signed his clean bill of health, looked up from the charts. "Don't you see, Mister Snape, as a-" he glanced at his notes, "-combat veteran wounded in action, you will _inevitably_ suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, unless you submit to a _full_ course of our Rehabilitative Therapy."

"Do I have a say in it?" Severus fired back. "Considering I am already 'rehabilitated' to the point of being able to say no." _Harry swore I'd be 'fine' here. Shows how little he knows._

His 'Healer' - the term could only be used loosely - puffed out his chest in indignation. "You don't seem to understand! All our war veterans go through our Rehabilitative Therapy. It's standard procedure before being discharged from St. Mungo's."

"Absolutely not!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the Healer didn't sound sorry at all as he repeated, "It's standard practice."

"You can take your 'standard practice'," Severus drew a deep breath and went for the crescendo, "crumple it 'till it's _all_ corners, and -"

"Now-now," the Healer overrode him hastily, "See, you're starting to strain your voice already," he declared smugly. "We certainly couldn't release you in such a state. You're staying right here until you're fit to leave. Come and sit down. Honestly, at you age, you just can't handle stress the same way you've been doing all these-"

"Get your hands off me, you imbecile! I-" Severus drew another breath which was cut short by a particularly badly-timed cough. The healer seized that opportunity to nudge him toward the bed.

"Oi, stop pushing him around!" Harry materialised at his side, drawn there by the latest assault on his pride by the Healers. "He's a war hero, not some criminal. He saved your arse, that doesn't mean you get to shove him down on his."

"Visiting Hours haven't started yet." The Healer waved at him dismissively. "Are you family?"

"Am I what? I'm Harry Potter! If you weren't so busy bullying your patients and writing bogus diagnoses, you might've seen me in yesterday's paper, or today's. And you might've learned that Snape here has handled more war wounds and stress than you can imagine. Without your help."

"Ah, you're a patient then..." Healer Halfwit let out a long suffering sigh that showed exactly what he thought of such patients. "What are you doing out of bed? We can't help you if you don't stay-"

"Help _me?_" What escaped from Harry's throat next wasn't quite a laugh. It was a cracked, hollow sound. "Just what'll you do? Have you got a timeturner, or a horcrux? Can you stop an Unforgiveable? Where were you weeks ago, when I watched my friends die, when_ I _died? You can't do a damn thing to help that. None of us can. Not anymore. So just _stay the hell out of my life!_"

Severus watched Harry build up steam. As something of a connoisseur of rants, he heartily approved of all that outrage, now that it was being used for him instead of aimed at him. He even found himself admiring the fire that righteous indignation kindled in Harry's gaze, and the colour it lit in his face.

"Thank you, Potter," Severus husked when Harry finally drew a breath, "as I was saying, I'm quite well without any rehabilitation."

_"See?!"_ Harry cried, getting right into the Healer's face, "You wanna help? Just do whatever you have to do to get him out of here!"

"Hm, I see," huffed the Healer, holding up his clipboard between himself and Harry, as if that would even slow Harry down, "Obviously something has to be done about this."

"Yeah, about bloody time."

The ruffled Healer took his quill and made a few stabbing notes on the entirely inadequate shield of his clipboard. "Indeed. You _both_ will have our full help and care. Since you too are a combat veteran, Mister Potter, clearly you're already suffering from Anger Management Issues, just like Mister Snape. The first session of Rehabilitative Therapy is at five o'clock today, two levels up. St. Oglaf's Therapeutic Ward. I expect you both" - he looked meaningfully from Harry to Severus - "to be there on time. Six daily sessions to start with, then I shall evaluate your progress."

Severus groaned. _Obviously, another Healer has custody today of St. Mungo's communal neuron._

*

  
Severus trudged up the stairs. _I suppose I can see the logic behind sentencing Harry to slave in the salt mines; anger management will only do the impetuous sod good. It's about time someone fixed his fits of insubordination toward authority figures. But there's no reason **I** should have to suffer through anger management as well! I've already suffered more than enough!_

_Oh well, this won't take long,_ he assured himself with a sigh. _I'll just make sure Harry gets there, and then I'll nip out of St. Mungo's while he's still shouting._

St. Oglaf's Therapeutic Ward actually managed to live down to Severus' low expectations. The dingy little room had a dank smell, various unpleasant stains on the walls, and a collection of those sturdy and supremely uncomfortable metal chairs that lurk around institutions. The chairs had been arranged in a circle, to 'encourage sharing', Healer Agonisingly Earnest had said, and her sugary voice was the last straw. Thus 'encouraged', Severus stood up, drew a deep breath, and proceeded to 'share' in withering detail his assessment of the Healer, her parentage, intellect, education and credentials.

His introductory outburst roused the motley mob of patients in the other chairs from their former sullen stupor. "Too bloody right!" "Look at the sarky sod go!" "You tell 'er!" "Got some anger wot wants managin', 'e does."

Severus rounded on the catcalling audience without warning. "As for you lot, you've forgotten what stress is, if any of you ever knew! If you remembered, you wouldn't be lolling around in those chairs like a load of gutless, nutless wonders! If you had the wits it took to put one flat foot in front of the other, you'd do it! Grow up, get a grip, get out of this pus-green prison, but most of all _get out of my sight!_" A nimbus of unfocused, wandless magic crackled around his scrawny body, charging the air around him until his hair lifted in wavering, serpentine strings, like a greasy gorgon.

The impressive look didn't survive the stampede: Severus was knocked flat and almost trampled in the rush when the patients stormed the ward's exit. Only Harry, the shellshocked Healer, and a jumble of overturned chairs was left. Harry helped Severus up, and grinned at him as he swiped the worst of the dirt from his rumpled hospital gown. "C'mon," Harry turned for the door, which was now hanging off one hinge, "Before we get out of here, we've got to get you some real robes. Something in black."

"With a back," Severus insisted firmly, tugging the flimsy fabric over his arse for the umpteenth time.

"Bugger," Harry muttered, though it did nothing to dampen his grin.

*

  
"Whew. Now that you've got your robes back, we really have to decide what to do with you next."

Severus tore his gaze from the remains of his St. Mungo's gown burning merrily in the fireplace, and fixed Harry with a disbelieving stare. "'We' won't be doing anything with me. I'm fine."

"Right." Harry began pacing in front of Severus' bookshelves. Sometimes he'd turn halfway, sometimes he'd lengthen his stride or bounce. The unpredictability of it made Severus' head ache.

Severus scowled. "Exactly."

Harry stopped midway, as if petrified on the spot. He turned and gave Severus an urgent, pleading stare. "But... but what if you're not?"

"But I am."

"But what if you're _not!_ They must've had some reason for thinking you - we - needed treatment."

_As if either of us need that load of utter bollocks!_ "'Reason'? They wouldn't know 'reason' if it sat on their collective faces and shimmied! I'll be a damn sight better off without them and their moronic meddling, and so will you."

Harry blinked. "Without help? How?"

Severus met his gaze and immediately rolled his eyes for good measure. "The same way everyone gets by without St. Mungo's." He sat down in front of the hearth, and stretched his legs out to toast his toes by the fire. This was surprisingly relaxing, interloper notwithstanding. "And who said anything about 'without help'? Come here," He patted the rug next to him. "Sit down." Harry sat down, but he still looked as if he required explanation, so Severus provided it, by example. _The last batch I cellared should be well matured by now. _He held out his hand and performed a wordless Summoning Charm. When the bottle floated through the doorway - trailing enough cobwebs to look like an alcoholic ghost - and slapped its neck into his hand, he drew its cork with another silent Accio, and shoved the bottle at Harry. "Drink up."

"What's that?" Harry stared at the bottle as if Severus was offering him a dead rat.

"Non-toxic," Severus said pointedly. He took a sip by way of proof, before holding out the bottle again.

Harry took it, brushed the cobwebs off, looked for a label without success, then finally took a wary sip. He choked, then grinned, licked his lips and went for a long, careless swig.

"Show some respect, you greedy sod," Severus snatched back the bottle before Harry could drain it dry. "I didn't slave over a brewing vat for you to guzzle my nettle wine as though it's bloody butterbeer!"

"Yours? Y'mean you made this yourself?"

"What part of 'potions master' didn't you understand? ...Oh, of course, all of it."

"No, s'just, I mean. S'good. Really good!" Harry reached for the bottle: trusting as an infant, or greedy as a seasoned alcoholic.

"Try not to sound quite so shocked," Severus groused, but he handed over the bottle all the same.

*

  
Alcohol made Harry talkative. _But at least it's stopped him wearing more holes in my rugs with his ridiculous pacing. I suppose it's an improvement. Even if it does mean I have to put up with a half-sloshed halfwit._ "That 'Boy Who Lived' title isn't quite so obnoxious, now that you've earned it twice." Severus muttered. It was as close as he'd ever come to admitting he was glad Harry had survived. "Perhaps if you also learn that persuasion gets you more places than shouting, you won't end up in quite so much trouble."

"Oi, that's rich coming from you," Harry replied; his manner was all amiable teasing, utterly unlike the sullen resentment of his schoolboy days. But the lighthearted moment didn't last. Harry lowered his head, heaved a gusty breath, and shoved a hand through his hair, failing to ruffle it any further. "Don't say it," he sighed, "You're right, 'I'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar', and all that crap..." Harry looked up through his tangled fringe, "But sometimes I, I just lose it, and then I can't _not _shout. 'Cause it's all so damn unfair! But even while I _am_ shouting, I know it won't solve a thing, just make it worse, and it's so bloody infuriating!"

As Harry's gaze slipped away and he stared at the fireplace, Severus became aware of the dark rings around his eyes, the sharp, starved angle of his cheekbones, the rough, bristly shadow on his jaw.

"Oh, well, enough of that," Harry shrugged. "Maybe the bloke was right and I do need therapy, more than you do. I never knew I did, but then, I've never gone to war before. That's gotta leave a mark."

At the mention of a mark, Severus' hand closed over his left forearm, in a reflex anticipation of pain. But the pain never came.

Harry caught the movement and winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean that Mark..."

Severus shook his head, cutting the faltering apology short. "No matter," he said with his usual impatience, but then he paused, struck by the realisation that it really didn't matter, not as much as before. _It's still a brand of shame, and that's not good, but at least it's no longer a choke-chain leashing me to every whim of a murderous megalomaniac._ "No matter," he repeated, softer, and stretched out on the rug with a sigh, followed up by a sip of the wine. He thought about it, then shrugged and summoned a second bottle. Harry Seeker-snatched it mid-flight, grinning at him and hoisting it in a mute toast before drawing its cork and taking a long draught.

Severus matched him with his own bottle. _I really outdid myself with that vintage._ Under its influence, he usually found himself waxing philosophical, and tonight was no exception. He stared into the fire and murmured, "Sometimes... things just happen. A tat's just a tat, and life's a bitch, because it _is_: always out to steal another pound of flesh. And that's how it'll always be. You've just got to hope that the tats life sticks you with are ones you can live with." He rubbed his forearm. "D'you see what I mean?"

"I think so." Harry grew silent, contemplating, as if he was about to spit out with something deeply meaningful, but he did not. "Uh, I've got a potions question for you," he said instead, between gulps.

Severus nodded. "Go on..."

"Y'said it was non-toxic." Harry drained the bottle and grinned, giving Severus a green, unfocused glare. "So then why'm'I in-hic-_toxic_ated?"

Severus sighed deeply, and resisted another round of rolling his eyes. Instead he summoned a blanket and handed it to Harry. "You can stay here overnight, but I'd better not see you in the morning. Apparate from the alley."

Then he freed the empty from Harry's clutches, and finished his own bottle off. _As long as we're wasting alcohol, at least it should go to someone who appreciates it._

*

  
When Severus came downstairs next morning to investigate all the clatter, he discovered a knocked-over house broom, and a toppled stack of grimoires. The deadbolt on the front door grew suspiciously still, then rattled again by itself.

Severus groaned. "When I said I'd better not see you in the morning, I wasn't asking you to wear that blasted cloak."

"Sorry, uh..." Harry's head appeared, floating in midair. "Your door's stuck."

Severus sighed and took down his usual paranoid tangle of wards. The door swung open, revealing that the deadbolt wasn't even attached to the doorframe. Severus had replaced it long ago with his own far more efficient security measures, but he'd left the old lock for decoration. It gave the door its own rustic charm.

Severus rubbed his forehead, wincing at the light in the doorway. "Hang on." He summoned a phial of Hangover Helper, drained half then tossed the phial to Harry. "There. Drink that, and never darken my doorstep again."

"Right, I'll Floo in next time." Harry toasted him with the phial, then emptied it in one swig.

The brat Disapparated before Severus could even finish saying "What 'next time'?"

*

  
Severus knew there were more things wrong with him than the Dark Mark: his nose, his surname, either of his occupations, just to start off a long list. The Mark was still maddening, even now it no longer actually hurt: there was always the need to hide it from condemning wizards and curious Muggles. It was a constant shame, a relentless reminder of youthful folly, a permanent stain on his life as much as his arm. _But at least it's possible to hide it, unlike many of the other things wrong with me._ They were all part of him, and one by one, Severus had learned to coexist with the faults he was born with, and the ones he'd picked up along the way.

There were also rare, unexpected moments when he didn't have to hide it, when his most damning faults were accepted as casually as his wine.

Next evening when he stoked the fire, he left its iron spark-guard (as strong as prison bars) wide open, in case a stray visitor might drop in. He even called off the firedogs.

It was just as well. With a pop and a crackle of flames, Harry's voice announced, "Therapy time!" In short order the short miscreant came bounding out of Severus' hearth. In Harry's hand was an unopened bottle of scotch. Tabby hairs clung to his robes: an inevitable price of raiding McGonagall's stash.

Not that Severus knew anything about that. He quickly turned away from the fireplace, buttoning up his robes. After St. Mungo's pitiful excuses for robes, he'd had enough of trying to hide his pasty white arse to last him a lifetime.

"You don't look like a therapist to me. More like half-piss't." Severus nodded meaningfully at the scotch.

It turned out to be an astute diagnosis: Harry wasn't so much cheerful as plastered in a determined attempt to be cheerful.

"Ginny told me to get some. And to get out. Well, I haven't been getting some for a long time, ifyouknowwotImean. Not from Gin. ...So I got out. And got some. Er, scotch. Instead of gin... 'n Gin." He waved the bottle in place of further explanation. "Want some?"

Severus considered. _In cases like these, social convention says I should offer a willing ear. Well, I've got a pair of them, I **suppose **I can spare one for a while._ He sighed. "What happened?"

"Told 'er the truth," Harry sighed, surrendering his bottle as a toll as he sat down in front of the fireplace.

Severus scowled. "What 'truth'? Were you foolish enough to cheat and then admit it?" Any self-respecting Slytherin knew that truth was best doled out in small doses.

"What? No! Told 'er I was gay."

"You _what?_" McGonagall's scotch wasn't the best thing to choke on while drinking: when it went down the wrong way, it felt almost as sharp as snake fangs piercing his throat, and he should know.

"I told her I was gay," Harry repeated. "And she said I was lying, which is bloody ironic when it was the first time I _hadn't_ been lying to her since we started going out!" He dropped his forehead onto his knees and mumbled, "George reckoned it was funny, but now Ron's not talking to me."

"He isn't? I would've expected him to be positively earsplitting."

"He asked if I was thinking of him all the times I was kissing his sister and what kind of daft bloody question was that?"

Severus sighed. "Instead of suddenly springing the unvarnished truth on the unsuspecting, perhaps next time you might consider-"

"Lying?" Harry cut in, "Hell no!"

"No! Not lying... well, not lying per se. Work up to the truth. Start dropping hints first, instead of just dropping a bloody big bombshell on a clueless chit with six elder brothers and a bat bogey fetish!"

"Yeah, I know that now." Harry winced and rubbed his nose, which was as red as a seasoned alcoholic's, though the scotch bottle he'd brought was far from empty. He met Severus' gaze with a thoroughly miserable look of his own. "So, er, speaking of bombshells..." He took a fortifying swig, "Well, aren't you going to say something? Yell at me like Ron? Or are you going to curse me like she did?"

Severus released a theatrical sigh. "Oh, I suppose you overlooked a few of my faults when defending me at St. Mungo's. The least I can do is return the favour."

"So being gay is my _fault_?"

"_No_, you bloody fool, _that's_ not a 'fault' at all!" Severus held the furious scowl for a long moment, letting his point sink in, before he added in a quieter grumble, "But being a brainless, impulsive twit most certainly _is_ a fault. Which I haven't actually criticised you about, you'll notice." He nabbed Harry's bottle and took a swig. _Comforting a self-declared homosexual and budding alcoholic is obviously thirsty work._

*

  
By the end of the month, thanks to Harry's dedicated mission to find the best therapeutic cure for their conditions, they'd tasted various brews and combinations, from Hagrid's moonshine, to Fleur Delacour's coveted collection of champagnes. It was then, in a sudden fit of lightheadedness, Severus raised his glass for a toast and had pronounced them both thoroughly cured. Possibly 'cured' in the sense of 'pickled', but that was all right.

"We better keep it up for another few weeks," Harry said. "Just to be sure."

Occasionally the brat did have decent ideas.

*

  
And other times, his ideas were a lot less than decent.

"Hullo there!"

Harry, beaming, thrust his empty hand forward, turned it up, to show him... That.

A fresh tattoo.

The brat even had the gall to ask him, "D'you like it?"

Even though Severus hadn't thought of Voldemort for a while, the thought of inked skin brought the memories of his initiation flooding back, as horrible as yesterday. The predatory greed on the Dark Lord's face. The needle-sharp wand, and the curse, a conjured smoky snake forming the Mark, winding, twisting, seeking skin. Striking it. Stabbing curse and venom deep.

Ever since he'd been subjected to his mark of shame, he'd despised the foolish fad of forcing ink into human skin, whether it was by curse or needle. Disgust at the memory sharpened his voice. "What in Salazar's name made you think _I_ would like the thought of _you_ getting _tattooed_?"

"Um... 'cause moving tatts are hot?" Harry gave a tentative grin and tried to nudge him, in an attempt to tease him into a better mood.

Severus sidestepped smartly. "So is a poker to the eye." He glared at the freshly inked atrocity. A red snitch now stained the width of Harry's palm. "What the hell were you thinking?" He stared down his nose, for good measure. "Oh, wait, it's you. You weren't."

"Oh, so now I'm not allowed to get a tat without your permission? Do I get points docked then? Detention?" Undeterred by Severus' barely audible "Don't tempt me," Harry continued, "And I did so think it through!"

"With which head?"

"Ha-bloody-ha. No, really! Look. It turned out well, didn't it?" He leaned closer to Severus, his tone coaxing, "See how the wings shine? And the shadows, aren't they brilliant? The ball looks really round. It's a damn miracle how-"

"It's a 'damn miracle' you're alive," Severus interrupted. "Did you see them sterilise _and _countercurse the needles?"

"Er, needles?"

"Yes, the needles! And what precisely went into the ink?" Severus pushed back the litany of harmful potions that crowded into his mind and gave a crescendoing cry, "Do you have any clue how easy it would be to _poison you?_" A flush had crept into his hollow cheeks and he was panting just a bit.

"There weren't any needles," Harry replied crossly, "that was the point! As for the ink, I borrowed that from your desk."

"You used my ink." It was a statement, not a question: a flat-voiced declaration that deserved a moment of silence.

"Yeah, you haven't used it for ages, it was covered with dust, and George said-"

"If you absolutely must roll around in your newfound sexual freedom like a pup who's been let outside for the first time, did it have to be with George Weasley?"

"I didn't roll around in anything with George!"

"I should bloody well hope not! And for your information, that's the same red ink I used to use to mark student essays! Are you that sure it wasn't poisoned?"

"Wait, you poisoned essays?" Harry did a doubletake, his amused expression ever so slightly tinged with apprehension.

_Good._ Severus smirked the smirk of an evil genius. "That would be telling."

"Oh bollocks," Harry scoffed, but again it wasn't quite up to Harry's usual self-assurance. "D'you honestly expect me to believe you poisoned it?"

"Bit late for you to be wondering that now, don't you think?"

"Hmph." Harry pouted, "S'not burning or itching or anything." He scrubbed his palm down his thigh, and then frowned at it. "Gah, now it _is_ itching!"

"Indeed..."

"Indeed what? Indeed, what a coincidence, or indeed, I'm about to break out in boils?"

"You should know by now that my poisons don't cause anything as banal as boils. They are subtle. If you must know, occasionally there's a slight burning, shortness of breath," Severus glanced slyly at Harry who was beginning to sweat. "Perhaps even a mild fever."

"You're a right sod, y'know that? You can stop that now, I know it's not poisoned!"

"Ah," Severus raised his finger. "But are you really going to take that chance?"

"Why not?" The brat eyed the red snitch on his hand curiously. "Took worse chances before." He lifted his palm to his face, then stuck his tongue out as if he was about to give it a big, slobbery lick, but Severus heaved a pained sigh and caught his wrist.

"Fortunately, this time, you won't have to take any chances. Give it here."

The tattoo didn't look too fresh. Severus examined it as thoroughly as he could, in a couple of glances, without appearing paranoid. There was no redness of skin, besides the zig-zagging scratches Harry managed to inflict on it. The wings of the snitch shivered in rhythm with Harry's pulse. _Could've been much worse._

"Lesson one. You don't scratch tattoos. You don't rub them. You don't lick them. You certainly don't let anyone else lick them." Severus smirked. "Not unless they ask _very_ nicely and pay you back with copious sexual favours." He widened the smirk into an evil grin as Harry blushed and began to splutter, and kept right on speaking over the top of Harry's embarrassed noises. "Apart from that, keep the skin moist - with salve - keep it away from sunlight, and let the ink settle. Accio salve!" He ended the lecture by opening the jar and rubbing a thick layer of cool, clear goop into the palm of Harry's hand.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, quiet. His fingers moved, squeezing Severus' hand once, and were still once more.

Severus cleared his throat, and forced himself to let go. "Don't mention it. And next time bring some good liquor, instead of being a bad licker." _I'll need plenty of booze after stunts like this._

*

  
"I still think your ink wasn't poisoned," Harry said over a bottle of Aberforth's best firewhiskey. "You just wanted an excuse to make sure George didn't put any lewd surprises in my tattoo."

"Why would I need to do that?" Severus parried, "When the tattoo itself was enough of a lewd surprise."

"You make it sound like I tattoed my arse and wiggled it at you."

"Don't be daft. And speaking of daft, don't you know a joke when you hear one? Did you really think any poison _I'd_ brew would announce its presence with symptoms? If I _had _poisoned my ink, you wouldn't have made it out of the blasted tattoo parlor, or Weasley's backroom or whatever sordid place you went to get yourself doodled on like a bathroom wall."

"Why would I go anywhere? I did all the 'doodling' myself."

"Hmph. That's a recipe for disaster if I ever heard one."

"Why are you so against it, huh?"

"How can I not be? I could tell you horrors about wizards your age who suddenly decided it would be brilliant, maybe even prestigious, to have a tattoo, and ended up in Azkaban, or dead. And what's worse is, my ink was used to draw it!"

Harry stepped up to him, toe to toe. "Listen, you impossible sod. I know that fucking thing on your arm's probably put you off tatts for life, but this isn't the Dark Mark." Severus drew breath for a return of fire, but Harry kept talking, the light of battle in his eyes, "It's not even a needle tattoo. And yeah, your ink was used. That was the only ink I wanted to use!"

"Why?"

"Because." The light of battle faded from Harry's eyes. "Just... because! You wouldn't use anything dangerous day in day out. And no matter what you'd like everyone to think, I know damn well you'd never poison your students."

_Right now,_ Severus thought, _I wouldn't have minded poisoning George Weasley. After all, **former** students don't count._

Harry gave a conspiratorial grin and clapped Severus on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't spread the news around, it'd ruin your tall, dark and doomy reputation."

Severus shrugged Harry's hand off his shoulder, refusing to be steered away from the question. "This is still a lot of trouble for you to go through, just to tease me. Is there something you're not telling me?"

Harry grew quiet. Sombre. "Yeah, I suppose there is..."

"... Harry?"

"There's a reason I didn't use needles. I used a magical quill. Because I had to. I had to get over _this_." Harry clenched his fist, lifted it abruptly face high. But instead of punching Severus, he turned his fist so that the back of his hand faced Severus. "You're not the only one marked," Harry was saying, but Severus hardly heard him.

Severus was focused completely on Harry's scars. Lines of white covered the back of his hand, fine enough to go unnoticed, especially given the way Harry talked with his hands, his body brimming with energy, never entirely still.

_I must not tell lies._

Severus' blood ran cold. "A cursed quill?" he choked out, "Who?"

"Umbridge." Harry said flatly. "That cow loved giving me detentions."

Severus was speechless. Insults always flocked to his tongue, but words of commiseration deserted him, left him mute.

Harry didn't leave him floundering long, adding quietly, "So, yeah. I thought it was about time I got over it, used a quill on myself in a way that wasn't a curse."

"So you drew something you like to catch, on the opposite side." Harry nodded. "...In _my_ ink." Harry smiled. He was still standing toe to toe with Severus, so Severus leaned down, just a bit, turned Harry's hand over and traced the image of the snitch on Harry's palm, seeing it for the first time in an entirely different light. "Did it work?" he murmured, "Have you captured your prize?"

"Not yet."

Severus eyed Harry. Standing so close, his body radiated heat. Severus wanted to curl around him like a cat, and bask in all that warmth. Hope and dread forced him to ask "What else do you want?"

Harry closed what little distance remained between them, sliding his hands over Severus' shoulders. "This." He leaned forward to leave a warm kiss on Severus' cheek. "And more."

Severus couldn't help tilting his head into the kiss. To cover for the momentary lapse, he gave a sigh that managed to sound irritable, though the sigh that followed, when Harry's lips teased at his, was incriminatingly soft and needy. When he came up for air, he muttered, "What _'more'_?", in an exasperated tone that he hoped masked his interest.

"I want someone." Harry smiled at him, wistful and shy. "Someone interesting. And clever and funny and..." Harry's voice trailed off, but the thought continued behind that open, clear stare: _...someone who knows what I'm thinking_.

Severus smirked. _I love being a Legilimens. _"Anything else?"

"Hmm." Harry paused, pretending to think it over. "Someone kinky would be good." he added with a teasing grin.

Severus narrowed his eyes and called Harry's bluff. "Define 'kinky'."

"What?" Harry's eyebrows rose. "You don't believe me, do you?" He laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, you really don't. Just so you know, I do realize what 'kinky' is. I've done it, thoroughly. Every single game you can think of, in bed. Try me."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Just bed? As opposed to, say, the hearthrug?" He smirked. "I can already tell your exposure to games was limited."

Harry shrugged, but a spark of defiance kindled in his eyes. "They kept me busy till now."

"Oh, I have no doubt 'they'," meaning George Weasley "did. And just what sort of 'games' did he introduce you to?" Harry blinked, shocked no doubt, and Severus began rattling off a laundry-list of possibilities picked up from a lifetime of voracious reading. "'Games', as in bondage and discipline? Dominance and submission? Sadism and masochism?" He reeled off the terms in as bored and jaded a manner as he could manage - and he'd learned 'bored and jaded' at Lucius Malfoy's knee. "Or breathplay, roleplay, polyjuice play, engorgio play? Transvestitism, transgender transfiguration? Water- or other 'sports'?" He lifted his hand to his chin, rubbing it as if in thought, but mostly to hide the growing tension in his jaw. "Or were you thinking in terms of toys?" he mused aloud, "Restraints? Leather or metal? Ropes, magical or mundane, or the ever-popular school ties? Corsets or mummy linen? Floggers and paddles and gags? Anal plugs, beads, dildoes? Vibrrrators?" He lowered his voice to a silky, insinuating purr, "Or were you thinking of something 'kinkier' than the _usual _selection at Weasleys' Wizard Wankers?"

"Wheezes," Harry corrected automatically. "And hey, do you still think I'm rolling around with George? 'Cause I'm not, never did. Don't you believe me?"

Severus hmphed. Pouted. Glared sidelong at Harry. Studied his stricken expression. Sighed, "Only because you are the wizarding world's worst liar."

"Yeah, I s'pose I am." Harry sighed, "M'not even as kinky as I thought. Still," he brightened, "toys are fun..."

"Whose toys?" Severus grumbled.

"Mine! All mine. I don't share them."

Severus relaxed and gave a lopsided smirk. "Not even with me?"

"No." Harry smirked. "Not unless you ask me nicely and pay me back with copious sexual favours."

"That," Severus purred in his deepest, dirtiest Bedroom Voice, "can be arranged."

Far from a blush of embarrassment, it was obvious that the colour in Harry's face was a flush of excitement. "Ahh!" he sighed, his entire expression lighting up with the beam of an enthusiast who'd just found a kindred spirit. "It'll be brilliant, showing you mine." At Snape's widening smirk, Harry chuckled and added, "My toys, I mean. I love the new wands they've just brought out: with bumps and tentacles and suckers and self-lubrication -" he began counting on the fingers of one hand "- and sugar serpents, they're lovely when they wiggle, and they even respond to parseltongue! And the knight armour set! The sword vibrates! And the codpiece is wicked! Or, or like those quickie quills, those are fun to chase 'round, and they're ticklish too. Imagine a whole swarm of 'em going at it!"

Severus' initial instant of surprise at shameless excitement had long since shifted to a sly leer. "Rrreally?" he purred. "You have hidden depths." _Who knew?_ He summoned a quill from his desk and drew the plume across Harry's lips, "I should like to _plumb_ them." _At last!_ he crowed inwardly. _A chance to put ages of theory into practice!_

Harry's face lit up with the brilliance of his latest idea. "You should try this for yourself, then you'll see how amazing it feels." He dug through his coat pockets and pulled out a shiny, tiny quill that looked like a parrot's tail feather. "Gimme your hand..." The brat grabbed Severus' wrist and before Severus could protest, left a spiral swirl inked in the middle of his palm. Severus' spidery fingers twitched, fighting the urge to curl inward and protect himself from the skritch-tickle of the quillpoint.

Severus yanked his hand back, bared his teeth and peered. The round red squiggle in the middle of his palm looked slightly lewd. "What. Is. That?"

"A snitch. Or it will be when I add the wings." Harry smiled as if that excused everything, before darting back in and adding the wings in a fluttery-scratchy flicker of the quill, the sensation riding the tingling edge of almost-pain by the time he was finished. Severus peered suspiciously at the bumblebee-sized circle with tiny feathery wings on his right palm. He flexed his hand, but when no further red welled into the shape, he realised Harry hadn't broken the skin after all.

"Now for the best part. See, once you've drawn 'em, then you can make them fly." Harry's smile grew wicked, "All over."

"Hmph." _Might as well let him have his fun.__ How bad could it be?_

"And then I chase it." Harry grinned. "Don't worry, m'good at that."

Harry leaned close to Severus' palm, his gaze cross-eyed from staring at the red squiggly ball at a short distance. Out of nowhere, Severus felt a sudden anticipation, gripping his whole body, holding him as still as an insect in amber. Then Harry bent his head just that little bit lower. Severus felt the slightest, silky brush of Harry's soft lips against his inked skin. The touch tingled, then Harry exhaled, fanning Severus' skin with the warmth of his living breath. As if he'd breathed life into the drawing, the snitch vibrated under Severus' skin, like a sun-warmed shiver. Harry beamed at it. "Go!"

The snitch took off, spreading warmth and vibrations through Severus' skin, like widening ripples from stones flung into the lake. It bounced back and forth and around each finger.

Severus gasped at the sensation and closed his hand in an attempt to trap the snitch in his palm. Trying to cover for the gesture, for the flash of startlement that had leaked onto his face, he grumbled, "Where did you find this spell anyway?" He added a suspicious glower for good measure. "'Go' is certainly not Latin."

The snitch in hand overcame its shyness and spiralled right under Severus' sleeve and up his inner arm. As it disappeared up his sleeve Severus twitched and his other hand clamped itself on his forearm in a gesture sadly reminiscent of his reaction to the Mark.

"Wait!" Harry exclaimed, "Don't scare it!" He added in a mumble, "You won't believe the places they pick for hiding. Just...." A hand settled on Severus' shoulder, "Relax, it'll slow down."

As if sensing Harry's touch, by warmth or pressure or pure magic, the snitch headed for the place where Harry's hand rested on Severus' shoulder, leaving trails of tingly warmth in its wake.

Severus hmphed and released his grip on his forearm. He let his arms hang by his sides and looked down; it sent his lank hair forward to hide his face. _'Relax'. Easy for him to say._ His shoulders were still taut with strain; the muscles jumped occasionally at a particularly energetic flutter from the inked snitch. "You didn't tell me where you found this spell," he groused, "Don't think I didn't notice."

"Um..er, Diagon Alley..." Harry trailed off.

_Oh, delightful. The Weasley shop then. Just perfect._

Harry's hand lingered still on Severus' shoulder, fingertips idly rubbing with a rustle of robes in the quiet. Under Harry's palm, the snitch was now mostly still, as if magnetised to Harry through Severus' skin and clothes. _Never thought I'd have that much in common with a snitch. Oh, the irony_.

Then the teasing brat moved his fingertips, tracing a wide arc down Severus' back. The snitch moved too, taking looping detours across Severus' ribs and buttocks.

"Ready for more?" Harry asked with a cheerful leer, sliding his hand down from Severus' shoulder to take his hand again, the same hand he'd drawn on, but which was for the moment empty of markings. As Harry cradled Severus' hand in both of his, the snitch that had been on Harry's palm appeared on the back of Harry's hand, flickering from finger to finger. Then Harry bent his head over Severus' hand, and started to trace circles in his palm with a fingertip, "Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear..."

Severus scowled and tried to snatch his hand back.

Harry held on, chuckling, "Sorry, I'll stop." In apology, he ducked his head and pressed a sudden, soft kiss into the cup of Severus' palm. The touch woke another burst of tingling, and when Harry lifted his head away, Severus wasn't entirely surprised to see that the inked snitch had jumped from Harry's skin to his own.

This time, it was his own snort of ironic amusement that seemed to breathe life into the drawing; it unfurled its wings with a quiver, and when Harry chuckled and said, "Go!" it took off like a comet up Severus' arm, leaving a trail of gooseflesh after it. The snitches met in the centre of his chest, and flew circling each other in an excited greeting dance, then broke off to streak around his chest and up and down his spine in an adventurous, vibrating game of tag.

Harry smiled warmly, as if he knew exactly where the snitches would head next. His hand rested on the back of Severus' neck. "Innit nice? You can train 'em to jump too. If the body parts are almost touching. Mine jumped from my elbow to my tongue once: bleah!" Harry stuck out his tongue like a puppy.

Mostly, Severus stood still as the snitches moved. Mostly. As they darted down his spine his head came up, brushing the ends of his hair against Harry's face. His breathing hitched audibly as they played the xylophone of his ribs; his buttocks clenched as the snitches swirled spirals around skin sensitive and unused to touch. "It's..." Severus drew a deep breath, and for once had to fight for words, "...unique."

"Yeah, very," the brat confided in a whisper, "And ticklish. They wander all sorts of places."

As if they were taking Harry's hint, the snitches zoomed in crisscrossing paths around Severus' thighs. Harry's hands rested against Severus' chest, his fingers tracing their own looping paths. Abruptly, the snitches stilled, two shivering hot points at the sensitive folds where Severus' thighs met his groin.

_'All sorts of places', indeed.__ Did **I** make that whimper?_ Certainly that was a shiver, rippling down his body. Severus squeezed his eyes tightly closed, turned his head away from Harry. _If I can't see him, if we're not looking at each other, it might all be a dream still. Yes, a dream._ The fact that he was shuddering in Harry's embrace was a dream, madness, a moment of fantasy. Anything but real.

"Lean on me," Harry murmured against Severus' ear, as if he needed an excuse to move closer, to slide his arms tight around Severus. "Yeah. I've got you." He moved one hand down Severus' body, toward the location of the fluttering, hot snitches, and as if sensing his touch through fabric, they moved down, on skin. A looping maddening descent - either Harry's fingers or the snitches never more than an inch behind - was too deliberately targeted to be a game. "Wanna try something brilliant?"

The snitches trailed tingles after them like comet tails. By now they had stretched a web of scintillation across skin that might never have seen sunlight. Star-bright sparks of sensation kindled constantly, pouring in bright rivers along Severus' nerves. He gave a shuddering gasp, as if he meant to reply to Harry's words, but the intake of breath was released only in an "Oh," before his knees weakened and quite abruptly the stubborn resistance broke like a wire under too much strain. He stretched backward into Harry's arms, his head rested on a warm, muscled shoulder. For the first time Severus turned his head and a heavylidded gaze reached for Harry's. **_You_**_ are 'something brilliant'._ His throat was too tight to say it aloud.

But perhaps sometimes Legilimency wasn't needed. Harry's arms tightened around him and he sighed happily into Severus' ear. His hands were still, fingers spread, palms pressing down heavily: one in the middle of Severus' chest, another between his legs. But while Harry's hands were still, the snitches were anything but, zooming from one point of contact to the other, concentrating on circling around, then underneath Harry's hands, in their restless and heated chase. "Yes," he breathed his approval against flushed skin. "Like that, yess."

The sparks of sensation caught, flared like tinder. Severus turned his head and leaned back a little more heavily, and a mouth that had opened on a gasp closed on the side of Harry's throat, in a sudden, hungry kiss.

Harry's hands, insistent as his quill drawings, snuck their way in through anything and anywhere, past buttons and layers of clothing. Seeking skin. Stroking it. Coaxing pleasure and passion high. With Harry's hand fisted around Severus' cock, his fingers pressing in just behind his bollocks, it was clear that snitch snatching wasn't the only thing on his mind.

Even without the snitches, Harry's stroking hands were doing a damn fine job all on their own, of driving Severus slowly, gloriously wild. It was all so wrong, so wonderfully wrong: just the thought of doing anything, anything at all with someone as young and vital and strong and hot was enough to melt Severus' spine. It was certainly enough to make his cock as hard as an iron bar. This close to Harry, this close to the brink, the sensitivity to magic that made Severus such a force to be reckoned with as a wizard, had set his nerves ablaze. He'd always thought of it as vulnerability, shielded himself behind layers of Occlumency, layers of robes. Now... for the first time, he realised that to be vulnerable is to _feel_.

One of the snitches took the hint of Severus' arching body. It circled slowly into Severus' groin and up the shaft of his cock, spinning faster and faster as it climbed closer to the tip: spirals tightening and gathering in a sizzling, sparkling swirl of magical energy. The other snitch wandered off and up Harry's fingers, which were splayed over the heartbeat pounding in Severus' chest. The snitch didn't remain on Harry long, just long enough for Severus to feel every vibration of its path along Harry's arm and up that strong, warm body pressed against his back. As the snitch jumped back from Harry's warm lips to Severus' ear and down his throat, it was another point of concentrated, vivid vulnerability, like his straining cock. Especially with Harry's frantic, heated whisper in his ear, "You made me come once, like this." The snitch traveled along Severus' spine, down, down, down until... "I didn't even have my kit off and you made me come so hard, just thinking of you. I really have to..." Harry's fingers pressed insistently against Severus' arse, stopping the snitch at just the right point and keeping the buzzing, blissful vibrations just there, "...return the favour."

Severus wanted to know all about the incident Harry described: he wanted to know in lush and lascivious detail exactly what he did to make Harry so hot, and exactly what Harry did to make himself come. He wanted it like a man in the desert wants water. But he wanted this even more: this moment, poised on the peak, shivering on the edge of the cliff, stretched between the poles of ecstasy - the leaking tip of his cock, the clenching rim of his arse. At this moment, he wanted nothing more in heaven or earth than to come. So, at last, the words burst from him, a low and lustful rumble, "Fuuuuck yeahhh..." rising to a yearning cry, "YES!"

When his senses returned to him, Severus found himself collapsed on the hearthrug in a tangle of sprawled limbs, rumpled shirt still hanging from one sleeve and his trousers shoved down his legs and tangled on his shoes. But none of that mattered, because his head was on Harry's chest, and Harry's arms were warm around him. And Harry's cock was a hot and eager presence, pressing into his side.

Severus rolled up to shake off his clothes. He glanced down at his left forearm and snorted with amusement. The Dark Mark now had two dormant snitches for eyes: the cheeky little buggers were roosting right over the skull's empty sockets. _I'd rather have this pair of balls than that load of old bollocks anytime! _He shook his arm, waking the snitches, and they zipped away to hover at the ready, right where he wanted them: one in each of his palms. He smiled at the tickle of their fluttering wings, and leaned forward, running his hands over Harry's body.

"Your turn," he grinned down at Harry. He cupped his palms over Harry's nipples and pushed, with flesh and with magic, pressing the snitches gently into Harry's skin. Harry gasped out a laugh of pure delight when they took off, chasing each other across his chest.

"Mm, you're a very fast learner, 'Professor'," Harry wriggled and beamed up at Severus as he bent to herd the snitches where he wanted them, with his tongue.

Severus grinned through the hanging curtain of his hair, looking appreciatively up the length of Harry's body until he met smiling green eyes. "I had the best teacher, 'Mis-ter Potter'."

*

  
The next morning, Severus and Harry were having a hearty breakfast in Severus' tiny kitchen. "We'll need to keep up our strength if last night becomes a habit," Severus teased.

Harry tilted his head as if thinking it over, then rose to his feet, circled the table and straddled Severus' lap. "Reckon I'll just have to convince you to make it a habit," he murmured into Severus' mouth.

They were just beginning to forget all about breakfast when they heard the knock on the front door.

Healer Pompously Incompetent evidently had more persistence than brains.

"Good morning Mr. Snape. In view of your somewhat, ah, less than orthodox method of discharge, St. Mungo's felt it advisable to provide a post-treatment checkup. I see Mr. Potter's here too, excellent, you were my next call." The fussy little man bustled in past Severus, smiling at Harry and getting out his inevitable clipboard. "You see, Mr. Potter, Mr. Snape, we at St. Mungo's remain deeply concerned with your mental well-being. Alcoholism is a tragically common outcome in cases of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, since sufferers use alcohol or other addictive substances as a coping mechanism. We..."

Severus interrupted the Healer's self-important spate with a bedrock-firm, "We're fine."

Harry slid his arms casually around Severus' waist and grinned at the Healer. "Really, we are. Yeah, we tried the grog, but we don't need that anymore."

Severus explained ever-so-helpfully, since Harry's mouth was now occupied with Severus' ear, "We've found a much better 'coping mechanism'. Now, unless you're here for a demonstration of said 'coping mechanism,'" he panted with delight as Harry's hand slid inside his trousers, "then _do_ kindly sod off."

By this time, the Healer had turned beetroot-red and was spluttering like a cauldron on a fast boil.

The slam of the front door as he fled had never been more welcome.

*

  


  
  
  
  
  
  
_"The worship of the sun-god Baal had involved the marking of the hands with the divine token in a mystic attempt to acquire strength."_

Ronald Scutt, 1974. Art, Sex and Symbol, 64.

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_"For someone who likes tattoos, the most precious thing is bare skin."_   


Cher  
  
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**Footnotes:**

St. Oglaf's Therapeutic Ward takes its name from a [NSFW webcomic](http://oglaf.com) that both [**ac1d6urn**](http://ac1d6urn.livejournal.com/) and [**sinick**](http://sinick.livejournal.com/) find _very_ Therapeutic.


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